


Heart-Shaped Bachs

by racheesi



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Orchestra, Gen, M/M, Minor Injuries, Multi, Mutual Pining, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 03:05:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18379658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/racheesi/pseuds/racheesi
Summary: Symphony Orchestra AU: The Colorado Avalanche play with a (very fictional) Denver Symphony Orchestra and have disastrous love lives, but it all turns out okay in the end. Featuring pining, soft boys, and lots & lots of puns.





	1. Tyson Barrie & Gabe Landeskog

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [Actual_Dunwich_Horror](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Actual_Dunwich_Horror/pseuds/Actual_Dunwich_Horror) in the [wesmashing](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/wesmashing) collection. 



> **Prompt:** Orchestra/symphony au. All the guys play instruments for a big fancy music group and they have big extravagant concerts. Any pairing would work!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: If you are a person mentioned in this fic please turn away now. This is a work of fiction.

**AUTHOR’S WARNINGS:** Brief description of an injury

 **AUTHOR’S NOTES** : I had a great time doing this exchange and thanks to Actual_Dunwich_Horror for the amazing prompt! I hope you have as good a time reading it as I did writing it!

For reference: here’s all of the Avs I’ve included and their place within the orchestra

First Violin (Concertmaster/Principal/First Chair): Colin Wilson  
Second Violin (Fifth Chair): Matt Nieto  
Viola (Principal/First Chair): Erik Johnson  
Viola (Second Chair): Sam Girard  
Viola (Sixth Chair): Matt Calvert  
Cello (First Chair): Philipp Grubauer  
Bass (Last Chair): JT Compher  
Piccolo (Flute 3/Auxiliary Flutes): Nikita Zadorov  
Oboe (Principal/First Chair): Gabe Landeskog  
Bassoon (Principal/First Chair): Mikko Rantanen  
Clarinet (Principal/First Chair): Nate MacKinnon  
Clarinet (Second Chair): Tyson Barrie  
Clarinet (Third Chair/Auxiliary Clarinets): Derick Brassard  
French Horn (Third Chair): Carl Soderberg  
Trumpet (Second Chair): Sven Andrighetto  
Trombone (Second Chair): Mark Barberio  
Tuba: Gabriel Borque  
Percussion: Tyson Jost, Alexander Kerfoot  
Harp: Ryan Graves

 

* * *

 

 

Tyson wondered, briefly, if this was his actual life.

Also, he wondered if he could afford a new clarinet. Nothing was wrong with his current one, of course, he loved Queenie. But if he happened to use her to beat his best friend up, could he afford to replace her?

Probably not.

But it might make Natedogg stop talking so loudly about things Tyson told him _in confidence_.

“All I’m saying,” Nate said. “Is that it’s our second year here. We’re not the new guys anymore. If you want to talk to someone, maybe ask them out, there’s no harm in it. His answer might surprise you. And that way I don’t have to keep putting up with a lovesick puppy all the time every time he so much as breathes-”

“I will soak _all of your reeds_ in sour milk if you don’t _shut up_ , Nate,” Tyson hissed as a familiar blond oboist made his way into the rehearsal hall, taking his seat in the row in front of Tyson, just enough to the left that Tyson had the _perfect view_. Small victories. 

Gabe leaned forward to talk to the new bassoonist, laughing as the kid made a stupid face. It was a beautiful laugh, Tyson thought. Like sunshine and warmth. The new kid looked pleased with himself. And he should be, too. Gabe wasn’t a concertmaster, but he was a leader in the Denver Symphony Orchestra. Named first chair oboe younger than anyone in the history of the symphony, and he was always around to welcome the new faces and make them feel at home.

When Nate and Tyson arrived together, taking over for the sisters that had played clarinet with the orchestra for thirty years and retired together, it was strange to be taking the place of an institution in the group, but Gabe invited them over for dinner, made them feel at ease, and the DSO had been their home ever since.

Colin, the new concertmaster, was making his way to the stage now, and the group was getting a little more hushed, anticipating tuning before the first rehearsal of the season, and Tys glanced at Gabe again. He was biting his lower lip, trying not to laugh again and Tys sucked just a little harder on his reed in response, only wishing for a moment it was Gabe’s lip instead of a flat piece of wood.

Nate elbowed him in the side (for a best friend, Nate sure was a jackass), and Tyson fumbled to get his reed onto his mouthpiece while Gabe turned on the tuner on his stand. He took a slow, relaxed breath, found his tuning A, settling into it quickly before the other woodwinds followed suit. Tyson felt warm all over. There was nothing like the excitement of a new season.

When Gabe played a second A for the brass, Tyson sighed and leaned a little into Nate’s side.

“It’s a _tuning note_ , Tyson,” Nate grumbled, but didn’t make Tyson move or anything so Tyson called that a win. “It’s not a Bach cantata.”

“Your obsession with Baroque is gross,” Tyson grumbled as the brass petered off to allow another tuning note for the strings. “There’s not even any good clarinet Baroque _anything_.”

“Telemann,” Nate shot back.

It was an old argument they had all the time, but it was nice, familiar. And it managed to distract Tyson, if only for a moment, from the way Gabe’s hair looked even softer under the stage lights.

 

—

 

The first rehearsal was going pretty well, Tyson thought. They had a short water break after the first hour and a half and Tyson went around introducing himself to some of the new folks. There was that new bassoonist, Mikko, who seemed to get along with Nate pretty well, and a bassist, JT. But Tyson’s favorite of the new kids was the percussionist, Tyson. Baby Tyson was a friend of Kerfoot, that kid that had joined near the end of the last season. Tyson didn’t really know Kerfoot, but as far as he was concerned, Baby Tyson “Stop Calling Me Baby Tyson Please” Jost was practically family.

“I’ve adopted him, now. He’s my son. My heir. The receptacle of all of my formidable knowledge,” Tyson said matter of factly as they sat back down to tune again for the second half of rehearsal.

“Does he know this?” Nate asked, as he rolled his eyes, sliding his reed back onto his mouthpiece.

“Of course he does! What sort of absentee father do you think I am?” Tyson held his hand to his chest. Baby Tyson was already in his phone as “Junior” and they had plans to get brunch at Tyson’s favorite hipster cafe that weekend.

“You’re parenting the new blood now?” Gabe spoke up from in front of Nate. His eyes glinted and his grin was wide and bright as he teased Tyson. “We’re really in trouble.”

To Tyson’s credit he only floundered for fifteen seconds _tops_ before managing a comeback. “Oh come on, Landesnerd. As if you haven’t already claimed Mikko over there for your own.”

Mikko crowed triumphantly, calling the rest of the orchestra’s attention to them just as they were about to start tuning again.

Tyson was too distracted by Gabe’s pink cheeks to tune with the rest of the woodwinds.

 

—

 

As they packed up after rehearsal, Nate and Tyson and their new occasional third/auxiliary clarinet player Derick made plans to meet up for dinner and a low-key sectional at Nate and Tys’ place that week. The crisp fall air smelled sweet from the waffle cones of Tyson’s favorite ice cream place half a block down from the rehearsal hall and Tyson could smell them even as he put on his coat. He moaned to himself, already thinking about chocolate peanut butter brickle in a waffle bowl smothered in caramel. Extra caramel, for emotional support for having to sit through a rehearsal that close to an actual Adonis.

He heard a choked noise from behind him and spun to see a red-faced Gabe putting on a knitted hat. He looked like some sort of advertisement for LL Bean. It was rude. Tyson was into it.

“Thinking of ice cream already, Barrie? Just as long as you fit into your tux by the first performance,” Gabe teased again looking entirely too soft for anyone’s (read: Tyson’s) own good.

“I’ll fit in my tux so long as you fit your giant head into that hat, Landy,” Tyson replied without any bite at all.

It got the reaction he wanted. Gabe chuckled and lifted a hand, as though tempted to ruffle Tyson’s hair, but then he dropped it and hurried out of the hall.

Tyson really wished he’d have followed through on it.

He stood silently for a few moments, pouting to himself while Derick and Nate finalized plans. 

“Home?” Nate finally asked when he was done.

Tyson shook his head. “Ice cream.”

He needed _so much_ caramel sauce. Now.

 

—

 

Rehearsals passed as normal, Nate spent his days as the adjunct professor at a local university and Tyson taught private lessons to cute little kids between repairing woodwind instruments at the music shop a few blocks from his and Nate’s apartment.

He was coming out of a lesson with one of his favorite students, an eleven year-old named Joey. Joey’s mom had sent Tyson a text saying she was running late to pick Joey up, so Tyson was showing him around the shop, occasionally taking down a display instrument to show him how different parts of it worked together. He asked a lot of insightful questions and actually paid attention. He was a great kid.

The front door chimed as someone stepped in and Tyson looked over, expecting to see Joey’s mother. Instead, he saw Gabe.

Casual Gabe. 

In a hipster-ass sweater.

And skinny jeans.

And boots.

And glasses.

Tyson wanted to _die_.

Eventually, he got his brain in quasi-functional order (which, let’s all be honest, is as good as it’s going to get around Gabriel Landeskog), and put on his brightest, widest, customer-service-iest smile. “Fancy seeing you here! How can we help you?”

Gabe’s eyes slid from Tyson to Joey, currently shifting foot-to-foot and hugging his clarinet case to his chest. “We?” 

Tyson nodded emphatically, ruffling Joey’s hair a bit. “This is my new apprentice, Joey,” he said mock-solemnly, eyes twinkling. “I know it’s a bit young for a full-time job, but he gets vacation days and dental, and we pay him in pizza.”

Gabe rolled his eyes fondly (well… Tyson hoped it was fond) and turned his attention to Joey, holding his hand out to shake the kid’s. Joey shifted his clarinet to one arm to oblige.

“You’re one of Mr. Barrie’s students?” Gabe asked.

Joey paused, face scrunching in thought, before he turned back to Tyson. “Um….”

Tyson chuckled. “ _I’m_ Mr. Barrie, kiddo,” he clarified.

“Oh! Yes!” Joey said, turning back to Gabe. “Tyson’s my teacher. He’s the best.”

Gabe’s eyes slid to Tyson with a little smile that Tyson felt all the way through his bones.

“I believe it,” he said gently.

While Tyson was internally ruminating on how monumentally unfair it was that Gabe was also great with kids, Joey’s mom rushed into the shop in a flurry of suburban-mom-hubbub, hastily pressing a check into Tyson’s hand and guiding Joey out with a stream of worry about someone’s brother’s football practice and someone else’s girl scout meeting and dinner but someone stopped eating meat and someone else was in trouble at school for fighting. Suddenly Tyson was really glad he only had the one sister growing up. That seemed like a lot.

Gabe clearing his throat brought Tyson’s attention back and Tyson blatantly stared for a few seconds before feeling himself flush down to his chest when he realized that Gabe had, essentially, been standing in the shop, not being helped by an employee, for like ten entire minutes.

“Oh shoot,” he said quickly. “I’m so sorry. Did you need something? I don’t usually work the floor but Scotty had to run some mellophones out for a marching band emergency or something.”

“No! No,” Gabe said, putting his hand on Tyson’s arm to pacify his incoming embarrassment-attack and Tyson felt his arm warm, like it was spreading out from the spot where Gabe’s hand was half-on the sleeve of Tyson’s ratty tee-shirt and half-on his bare arm. “I mean, I just… I mentioned at our last rehearsal to uh.. Nate. That I’d never been here before and Nate mentioned it so…I thought I’d just… say hi?”

Tyson blinked, trying to let that all sink in.

“To… me?” he clarified, trying to make sense of the words Gabe was saying. For all Tys was concerned, Gabe could have been speaking Swedish. It would have made more sense than just stopping by Tyson’s _work_ to ‘ _say hi’_.

Gabe responded with a very unhelpful shrug and distracted Tyson with his pink cheeks for a few moments while he reached toward the counter to grab two pads of staff paper. “I mean… I could uh… use… some of these?”

Okay. Tyson could do that. That made sense. Gabe needed a thing, Tyson could sell him that thing. Everything made sense again. He rung Gabe up quickly, trying to avoid eye contact lest he screw up and accidentally give Gabe all the money in the register or something. That sounded like a sure way to get fired.

A $20 bill and exactly 61 cents in change later, Gabe was holding a paper bag with two brand-new fresh pads of staff paper to his chest as he headed out of the shop.

And Tyson was so distracted by how _unreasonably_ tight Gabe’s jeans were that he completely forgot to give him his receipt.

 

—

 

Two days later, Tyson gave the carefully folded receipt to Gabe before their Saturday morning rehearsal started, hastily explaining that he’d forgotten to give it to Gabe when he bought the paper and Tyson didn’t know if he needed it for taxes or maybe reimbursement or something. Nate stared at him, unblinking, with that face. The one where he couldn’t believe Tyson’s stupidity. But it was only 7:55am and Tyson was _sure_ he hadn’t even had time to do anything stupid yet. Maybe Nate just needed coffee.

 

—

 

The Orchestra’s first performance that season wasn’t even really a performance, so much as an _event_. It was community engagement, a day spent working with kids. A lot of the performers with day jobs took a personal day for it because, honestly, it was kind of a highlight for Tyson and a lot of the other performers. They started off the day with a morning rehearsal, then a bunch of kids from local elementary schools came in to learn about the instruments and ask the musicians questions.

Then, while the kids were served lunch, everyone got changed into concert dress and had a ‘performance’ for the kids. It was a functional dress rehearsal for their actual opening night the next day, but the kids loved it. Matty, one of the second violinists, and Soda, one of the french horn players, taught music at two of the elementary schools in the area and they always made a point to say how enthusiastic the kids got about it every year and damn if that didn’t do _things_ to Tyson’s heart.

The rehearsal went smoothly, if not a bit quietly. Everyone was a little tired. Tyson looked over during a painfully long rest in one of the pieces to see if their tuba player was making more friendship bracelets, as he tended to do during rehearsals of songs he didn’t play, but he was just slumped in his chair, sucking coffee out of a travel mug, then holding it protectively to his chest, as though it was the nectar of the gods. Tyson understood that, though. He got like that with peanut butter fudge milkshakes.

The kids arrived near the end of the rehearsal with barely-concealed “hushed” whispers and lots of pointing. Some of them were dressed up. It was _precious_. Tyson loved it. Once they’d finished up the last piece, paying a lot more attention to dynamics, thank you very much Maestro Bednar, Colin stood. As concertmaster, he’d sort of gotten the de facto job of standing up with Maestro Bednar and answering any questions.

What Tyson wasn’t expecting was Gabe passing his oboe off to his second chair, standing, and working his way to the front. Tyson should have expected it, after seeing him with Joey. Gabe seemed to be good with kids. But still. It would be too much for Tyson’s delicate (read: horny) sensibilities to handle before lunch.

They went through each instrument, the first chair showing off the instrument and playing a snippet of a song. Some, like Nate, were boring and decided to play soloist pieces or snippets of their current repertoire, but others, like Philipp, the principal cellist, played snippets of pop songs that the kids recognized and cheered. When it was time for the oboe, Mikko ran Gabe’s instrument up to him and Gabe started playing.

And Nate started giggling. 

Gabe was playing “My Heart Will Go On”. Tyson glanced down at his Celine Dion shirt, feeling his face go bright, bright red.

When Gabe was done, he turned around to pass his oboe back to Mikko. His eyes slowly raked up Tyson before winking and spinning back around to talk to the kids about the oboe.

Tyson whimpered and slid down in his chair.

 

—

 

The rest of the Q&A was static noise to Tyson, who was just having a complete out of body experience. Did he know about Tyson’s infatuation? Was he just making fun of him? He tried to push that out of his mind as they broke up for a quick meal and change into concert dress for the ‘performance’ for the kids.

Tyson changed into his tux first before taking a quick walk around backstage to calm down. He took his time, going down a flight of stairs and trying to find anyone not-blond to talk to before he had an entire crisis about this. He found some people… though they were otherwise occupied. Perpetually horny musicians. It was, to be honest, rude that they were getting some and Tyson wasn’t.

He headed back upstairs and gratefully accepted a chocolate milk from Big Z, their piccolo player. Z even stayed around to chat, enthusiastically showing Tyson pictures of his wife and beautiful baby girl in exchange for gossip about Tyson walking in on Colin and the second trombonist, sucking face in a quiet corner of the back hallways.

“I knew mark on Colin’s neck wasn’t from violin,” Z said, deadpan and Tyson snorted, getting chocolate milk all down his shirt.

“Well fuck,” Tyson said, glancing around, looking for his spare that he’d brought since this _always_ seemed to happen to him.

(Nate would tell him to stop consuming chocolate while in his tux, but Nate was allergic to fun and Tyson would turn down chocolate exactly never).

He handed his drink off to Z before draping his jacket over the taller man’s arm, followed by his bow tie and cummerbund. The green room wasn’t too crowded, everyone was already dressed and most of the guys were just sitting around and hanging out, and it didn’t take him long to cross over, pulling off his shirt and replacing it with his spare.

He heard a squeak, and then a swear behind him as he got into his second shirt, not bothering to button it as he came back to a panicked-looking Z. Big Z dumped all of Tyson’s stuff back into his hands.

“Have to go get bandages,” Z said firmly. “Gabe hurt.”

Tyson spun back to where he’d seen Gabe and Mikko sitting earlier making reeds. Sure enough, Mikko was looking a little pale, trying to clean up the double-reed arts and crafts kit (Tyson was sure there was a better name, but Gabe’s box of stuff had actual glitter star stickers on it. So it was, and always will be, arts and crafts) while Gabe held a bloodied rag to his hand. Z took off to grab a first-aid kit and Tyson headed out, deciding to give them all some space to figure out Gabe’s hand. He hung around outside the door for awhile, purposely taking his time buttoning up his shirt, then getting the rest of his tux back on. Finally, Mikko came out and Tyson snagged him by the sleeve as he headed by.

“Is he okay?” Tyson asked quietly, nodding toward the door. “We don’t have to get him to the hospital or anything, do we?" 

Mikko shook his head. “He’s ok. Lot of blood, but not too deep. He can still play.”

Tyson blinked, realizing he hadn’t even thought about whether or not Gabe could play, which was strange, considering that was all any musician tended to think about with any hand injury. But it was good. It gave his concern for Gabe an excuse. He nodded at Mikko, letting him go. “Good,” he said, his voice a lot softer than he intended. “I’m glad.”

 

—

 

Once they were back on the stage, proper stage lights keeping Tyson warm under his tux, Tyson leaned over, nudging Gabe’s chair lightly until he turned around. Tys nodded at Gabe’s bandaged hand. “You’re okay?”

Nate followed Tyson’s gaze and zeroed in on Gabe’s hand. “Dude? What the hell? What happened?”

“Mikko and I were making reeds and I just… uh… slipped,” Gabe said quickly, not meeting Tyson’s gaze. “It’s fine. It just bled a lot, but it’s okay. I’m fine.”

Mikko rolled his eyes grandly. “Slipped,” he said, putting some weight behind the word and Tys tensed up.

“Dude. Accidents happen, let him be,” Tyson hissed before sitting back in his seat because yeah that was definitely Colin up in front, trying to get them to start tuning.

Gabe’s face was red. Tyson really hoped he was okay.

 

—

 

After the ‘concert’ for the kids, Tys took his time getting his stuff around. He changed back into his street clothes, hating to wear his tux any longer than he had to, then wandered around trying to find Nate. He saw Gabe leaving in a huff, too busy mumbling about _‘fuckin’ Mikko’_ to himself to see Tyson. He felt horrible for not being more firm about Mikko making fun of Gabe about his accident.

He finally tracked Nate down, having what looked to be a serious conversation with Mikko. Good. Maybe he was telling giving Mikko a dressing down for making fun of Gabe for hurting himself by accident. Mikko was a nice kid, but that wasn’t cool. Tyson stepped closer, hoping he could pick up some of the conversation without being obvious. Mikko _was_ kind of a naturally loud person. Nate was quieter, but Tyson had lived with him since they were in their second year of university. Tyson could pick out his voice pretty well.

As it was, Tyson could only hear snippets of the conversation, but he was pretty sure he could put it together enough.

He heard the hushed tones of Nate talking, but couldn’t make anything specific out, but Mikko’s loud (albeit attempted hushed) tone made Tyson flush.

_‘I just can’t believe he can’t see that Tyson’s into him…’_

Tyson didn’t hear Nate’s reply, but he knew that tone. The soothing timbre of his voice when he was calming Tyson down when he got a little wine-weepy.

Then he heard Mikko again, whiney and sad. _‘And Gabe is mine.’_

And this time, Tyson heard Nate, clear as a bell. _‘I know_.’

Tyson stopped cold and winced.

Gabe was _with_ Mikko? And Nate _knew_??

Nate knew and he still listened to Tys’ lovesick mooning and his stupid crushing and he didn’t say a word. Tyson was a bit of a mess, a self-proclaimed ‘disaster bi’, but he wasn’t a fucking _homewrecker_.

He hugged Queenie’s case to his chest protectively, tux draped over one arm, and rushed out of the hall.

It wasn’t until later, Tyson crushed into a too-small public transport seat between a middle aged lady carrying 2 giant bags of kitty litter and an apathetic teen scrolling through instagram, that his phone buzzed with a text from Nate.  

> **Dogg:** _bro where r u?_

 Tyson shifted Queenie’s case to the arm holding his garment bag so he could tap out a terse reply.

> **Tys:** _out._

 Nate didn’t need to know Tys’ business. If Tyson didn’t get to know _important things_ neither did _Nathan_. But his phone buzzed not ten seconds later, causing Tyson to scowl at it.

> **Dogg:** _????_

 Tyson rolled his eyes and pressed out a reply so hard his thumb pressed three keys at once and he had to go back and fix the word three times. 

> **Tys:** _bus._  
> 
> **Dogg:** _i drove this am u forgot? XD_

 Tyson clenched his jaw down hard. That was how Nate wanted to play this? Play the innocent act? Fine. Tyson wouldn’t go along with it.

> **Tyson:** _sure._
> 
> **Dogg:** _dude u ok?_

 Tyson got into his settings and turned on read receipts just so Nate could see that it was seen and absolutely, firmly _not_ replied to at exactly 3:43pm before he shoved his phone back into his pocket.

 

—

 

Tyson ended up stewing so long on the bus that he didn’t notice the stops until the kitty litter lady got up. He blinked through the momentary panic and tried to figure out where he was before realizing he’d missed home by 2 stops, but he was one stop from work. He leaned back in his seat, pretending that was his plan all along. He got off at the next stop, walking into Bernie’s Music ignoring the inquiring glance from Scott.

“You weren’t supposed to work today, were you?” Scotty asked, frowning as he checked the staff schedule they kept under the register. Tyson shook his head and headed into the back anyway, dropping his garment bag on a chair before gingerly setting Queenie’s case down.

“Nah,” Tys said quietly. “Just have a few free hours and I know that piccolo came in for a complete tune-up so I figured I’d get at least the pads replaced and the wood oiled so I have time to get started on that viola tomorrow." 

Scotty nodded solemnly as though that was perfectly understandable and something Tyson has absolutely done before. “How bad is that viola? The lady said her kid left it out and-“

“Dog used it as a chew toy, yeah,” Tyson said, falling easily into the conversation, though it didn’t do much to soothe his wavering emotions. “It’s not terrible though. Looks worse than it is. Glad a string didn’t pop and hurt the dog, honestly. It pretty much just needs a new bridge and a little TLC and it should be okay.”

He half-tuned Scotty out while he opened the piccolo case and double-checked the repair order before getting out his tools and getting to work. The distraction was absolutely welcome.

 

—

 

After splitting a pizza from the place next door with Scotty for dinner, Tyson reluctantly headed home. He tried to get into the apartment as quietly as possible, but juggling Queenie and his garment bag was difficult and he ended up just making more noise trying to unlock the front door.

Finally, Nate opened the door, letting out a dramatically relieved sign. “Dude, where were you?”

Tyson straightened up and pushed past him. “Out. Like I said.”

He tried to hurry to his room, but Nate wasn’t having any of it. He muscled between Tyson and his bedroom door and crossed his arms.

“Are you mad at me or something?” Nate’s eyes were wide and hurt, and if Tyson didn’t know better, he’d say Nate was actually concerned.

“You _think_?” Tyson spat before trying to push past Nate into his room, but Nate wouldn’t budge.

“Tyson…”

“You didn’t think to tell me Gabe was already seeing someone? Maybe to make me look and feel less like an idiot, since it’s apparently _so obvious_ to everyone that I’m into him. Including Gabe’s boyfriend,” Tyson hissed. He hated that he wasn’t good at being angry. He was filled to the brim with rage, but instead of being intimidating and scary, all he wanted to do was cry. He could even feel his eyes welling up and he ducked his head in embarrassment.

“You- Gabe- What?” Nate was so surprised he dropped his arm and Tyson took the opportunity to push past him into his room, but Nate followed on his heels before Tyson could slam the door closed behind him. “Buddy, I swear. I didn’t know.”

Tyson had just put his things down on his bed and he spun around, eyes spilling over. He pushed a finger into Nate’s chest. “Don’t fucking _lie_ to me, Nate,” he tried to shout but his voice broke and it just sounded sad and quiet and he _really_ hated not being big and scary. “You were talking to Mikko about it earlier. I _heard_ you.”

Nate got quiet and Tyson was ready to push him out of the room by any means necessary when Nate started…. Laughing? 

Tyson frowned and swiped at his cheeks angrily, ready - for the first time in his life - to actually physically _fight_ his best friend.  

Nate finally reached out and grasped at Tyson’s shoulder and Tyson was ready to shove him off but Nate just tugged him into a hug and _damn it_ Tyson couldn’t say no to a hug ever.

“No,” Nate finally said between wheezing giggles. “Buddy. _No_.”

Tyson stood there, confused, mad, and yep. Still confused. 

Nate finally stepped back, keeping a hand on Tyson’s shoulder, still chuckling and Tyson was still frowning and getting more and more pissed the more Nate laughed at him.

“Mikko isn’t dating _Gabe_ , oh my _god_.”

Tyson blinked at Nate. “What.”

Tyson crossed his arms and Nate leaned back against the doorway. “Dude, we were talking about how Gabe is Mikko’s best friend and how you’re mine and how it is _stupid_ that neither of you is asking each other out.”

Tyson tilted his head. “What? I’m not asking Mikko out. Oh my _god_ he’s a _child_ , Nathaniel!”

Nate sighed, not even bothering to correct Tyson’s eternally incorrect lengthening of his name for Dramatic Emphasis™. He crossed his arms, mirroring Tyson, so Tyson put his hands on his hips. Because he was still a little pissy with Nate and didn’t want to match. Whatever.

“I meant Gabe, Tyson,” Nate said softly and Tyson searched Nate’s face for any sign of joking or a lie or anything but there was none and Tyson didn’t know what to do with that.

“That’s… Don’t. I don’t- No,” Tyson said, sitting down on the bed.

Nate approached him slowly, like he was one of EJ’s stupid horses or alpacas or tortoises or bees or whatever he had on that hipster farm of his. “Buddy. I didn’t want to get involved because it’s yours and Gabe’s business, but he’s as into you as you are him, okay? I just… I hate seeing you this unhappy when you can do something about it.”

Tyson rolled his eyes and leaned against Nate’s side. “I don’t uh… I don’t believe you, but uh… thanks. Or whatever.”

“ _Or whatever_ ,” Nate parroted and Tyson could _hear_ his eyes rolling. “Just promise me you’ll think about it?”

“Yeah sure, whatever.” Tyson shrugged. He wasn’t sure if he meant that or not, and he was pretty sure Nate knew that. 

Nate sighed and tightened his arm around Tys’s shoulders. He was a good friend. “You want to sit here and tell me stupid puns for awhile?”

“Yes please.”

Nate was a _really_ good friend.

 

—

 

Tyson thought about it a lot between that night and the next rehearsal and he came up with the perfect solution:

He was just going to ignore it.

He never claimed to be a strategic genius, but it was a solid plan.

He waited for Gabe to get settled in his own seat before rehearsal before heading out to his chair. He’d only gotten so far as to put Queen down on her stand next to his seat when Big Z thundered toward him, arms laden down with auxiliary flutes of all sizes. Shit. Tyson forgot they were going to start rehearsing The Planets early, since it was a huge undertaking. Apparently Z was going to be busy with it.

“Barrie!” Z said, looking relieved. “I left my stands on the floor by the door. Can you go get them?”

“Yeah sure, bud,” Tys said, spinning around.

He heard Z give someone else a directive to follow, but he was too busy trying to find Z’s stands. He saw the door, but there was nothing there. 

“Didn’t he say by the door?” someone spoke up from behind him. Tyson spun around, stomach sinking to the floor. Gabe.

“Yeah I uh… don’t… see them?” Tys was trying to look _anywhere_ but at Gabe.

They stood in awkward silence until Tyson cleared his throat and turned back toward the stage. “Let’s ask him.”

“Good idea.”

They almost made it to the side of the stage when Mikko stopped them. Tyson looked over his shoulder to see Z setting up his flutes on their stands. “He found them?”

“He had them the whole time. We had a plan,” Mikko said, crossing his arms and staring down the two of them. For a kid he could be kind of intimidating.

“Plan?” Gabe said, his voice sounding a little squeaky and that shouldn’t be endearing but here Tys was, being that guy.

“We hid your instruments,” Mikko said and Tys’s hackles raised. Nobody touched Queenie without his permission. “Until you two talk _this_ out, you play clari _not_ and _no_ boe.”

Tyson was so pissed, he couldn’t even take the time to appreciate Mikko’s pun game. He grumbled and tried to push past Mikko. What was it with giant buff blondes blocking his path to anywhere he wanted to go? “Go away, Mikko. I’ll borrow Nate’s backup.”

“I didn’t bring it,” Nate said stepping out next to Mikko.

Tyson didn’t understand. Nate was _always_ prepared. Overprepared, even. Who brought a second instrument to every rehearsal even if they didn’t have to? Especially when one’s best friend repaired instruments for a living even if there was an accident? Nate, that’s who. And Tyson had never appreciated it until now, when Nate forgot-

“I left it home. You two need to talk this out,” Nate said.

“Judas,” Tyson grumbled.

“Better hurry! Only fifteen minutes until tuning…” Mikko sing-songed and swanned off to refill his reed-soaking cup with vodka or whatever it was he did in his free time.

Gabe cleared his throat next to Tyson, shifting uncomfortably, tugging at the bandage on his hand and it hit Tyson suddenly.

Gabe was _nervous_.

Gabe.

Nervous.

Huh.

Maybe Nate might have been right. Or at least… not wrong. Nate might have been not wrong.

Tyson nodded toward a quiet corner near the staircase, where he’d found Colin and Barbs playing their double-OT game of tonsil hockey before the kid’s concert.

“So…” Tyson started off, watching Gabe shift from foot-to-foot, his cheeks pink.

“So,” Gabe echoed to the floor.

Tyson stepped closer to Gabe, testing, just to see how he reacted. Gabe didn’t step back or shut down. If anything he listed a little closer and wow, okay. Tyson was really hoping he wasn’t just full of wishful thinking right now.

He racked his brain for anything smooth to say. Something clever. Something funny or flirtatious or polished that would sweep Gabe off his feet and into Tyson’s arms.

Unfortunately, what came out of his mouth was, “Nate says you wanna mack on me.”

And what came out of Gabe’s mouth was, “Did you- was that a _pun_?”

Tyson shrugged, unapologetic. It was a well-honed skill and if his brain to mouth filter decided that was it, he was going to just run with it. “Was that a yes?”

A giggle bubbled up out of Gabe and Tyson felt his brain go soft and his heart go mushy. And he just decided to go for it. If things got screwed up, then he’d just hide in shame under a rock for a few decades. No biggie.

“I hope it was,” Tyson followed up and watched Gabe go really quiet, finally looking up at him, blinking quietly.

Tyson held his breath, ready to bolt or just wait for the Earth to swallow him whole.

Gabe nodded.

He _nodded_.

Tyson barely got out a “Can I kiss you?” before Gabe nodded _again_ and he was boxed in against the wall by a big blond Swedish deity and his mouth opening to Gabe’s and he tasted sweet, like spearmint toothpaste, and fresh like cold water on a hot day. And when Gabe separated enough to scrape his teeth over Tyson’s bottom lip, Tyson gasped in a breath, sliding one hand up Gabe’s neck and into the blond hair he’d been absolutely _aching_ to touch for well over a year now.

“Gabe I-“ Tyson said while Gabe nuzzled against his neck and Tyson didn’t realize until that very moment that he had a thing for stubble.

“Yeah?” Gabe’s voice sounded just as wrecked as Tyson’s and Tyson was a little grateful. He couldn’t believe he was about to ruin it with his big stupid mouth.

“This is… I don’t-“ Tyson gasped as Gabe licked at the junction between Tyson’s neck and shoulder before Tyson weakly pushed him back.

Gabe stopped immediately and put at least a foot of space between them and Tyson almost whined for wanting that warmth of him back. But he had to say this because he wasn’t about to have his signals crossed. Not over this. 

“You don’t want this,” Gabe guessed sadly.

“ _No!_ ” Tyson shouted, so loud it scared the both of them. He felt his face get hot, but he shook his head. “No it’s not that. I want this. I… also don’t want _just_ this…”

Gabe tilted his head. “I don’t… understand?”

“I want to date you, okay?” Tyson huffed, exasperated. “Like… take you out for ice cream and make fun of your big head while we snuggle on my couch, or on your couch because I live with Nate and that might be awkward. And like… hold hands and all that stupid soft stuff.”

Gabe was silent for a moment, hints of a smile tugging at his mouth before finally, “Okay.”

“Okay?” Tyson repeated back.

“Okay,” Gabe said firmly. “Dating. Ice cream. Big head. Snuggling. Hand-holding. Stupid stuff. Okay.”

“Guys?” they heard Nate approaching, knocking on the wall hesitantly and covering his eyes. “Your instruments are back on your seats. We’re tuning in like a minute.”

“Got it, thanks, Dogg,” Tyson said, not even breaking his gaze on Gabe. As soon as Nate was out of earshot, they both slowly worked their way back to each other.

“Dating, then?” Tyson asked one more time. Just to make sure.

“Dating,” Gabe said, punctuating it with a kiss to Tyson’s nose. That was stupid. And dorky. And cute. And Tyson’s cheeks were really warm.

Gabe held his hand all the way to stage right.

Tyson wondered, briefly, if this was his actual life.

 

* * *

 

 

**AUTHOR’S NOTES:**

Here’s the entirety of the Nate and Mikko conversation (the italics is what Tyson overheard)

Nate: I don’t see why they just can’t say something. Everyone knows by now. Tyson thinks it’s one-sided. Gabe, too.

Mikko: _He is so stupid not to notice that Tyson is into him_.

Nate: It’s frustrating, I get that. Like Tyson is my best friend, but…

Mikko: _And Gabe is mine_

Nate: _I know_

Mikko: I just want them to be happy.

Nate: I know, kid. Me, too.

Also Gabe totally sliced his hand because Tyson was walking around half-naked.


	2. Tyson Jost & JT Compher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: If you are a person mentioned in this fic please turn away now. This is a work of fiction.

Tyson’s first few days of September were busy. 

He got to his new apartment one day after receiving the job offer from the Denver Symphony, the last (and last-minute) percussion opening. It all seemed to click into place from there. His buddy, Kerf, another percussionist, had another room in his apartment Tyson could rent out and, if that wasn’t enough, Kerf had also asked around and gotten Tyson a  _ second _ source of income, working with the percussionists of a local high school marching band. Kerf was working the front ensemble, and Tyson was going to be the new tech for the drumline. He arrived the day of the first DSO rehearsal, barely getting all of his boxes into the new apartment before he was grabbing his mallet bag and booking it to the concert hall, refusing to be late on his first day. 

He saw Kerf as he pulled into the parking lot and tugged his friend (and new roomie) into a quick hug. 

“Bro, I can’t thank you enough,” Tyson said as he pulled away. “Thanks for leaving the key in the mailbox for me.”

“Yeah, no worries, man. You get unpacked okay?” 

Kerf was setting up the tympani, so Tyson grabbed another one to be helpful. He wasn’t certain of the exact set-up they had here, but Kerf had spent the last two performances of last season with the DSO so hopefully he could show Tyson the ropes. 

“Got all my boxes up before I had to head here,” Tyson admitted as he settled the last drum in. “Didn’t really unpack yet. When do I get to meet the other guy? The third roomie.”

“He should be around tonight,” Kerf said, handing Tyson the snare drum so he could adjust the height of the stand. 

“At the apartment?” Tyson tilted his head.

“I guess. He hasn’t been around a lot, though. Started teaching at some high school on the other side of town and keeps bugging other teachers with questions. Good guy, though,” Kerf replied, taking the snare back. 

“Cool, cool,” Tyson nodded, trying not to sound too much like a gossip. He didn’t know the other guy, but he trusted Kerf and Kerf vouched for him.

The first rehearsal went really well, in Tyson’s opinion. He didn’t know his music as well as some of the others who’d had time to prepare for a few weeks, but he was a pretty good sight-reader. And the water break proved interesting when some clarinet player, Tyson Barrie, declared Josty his namesake and decided to adopt him. Barrie started calling him Baby Tyson. Tyson wasn’t really a fan of that, but the guy was cool and offered to show him around the city a bit, so they’d exchanged numbers. 

He’d met a few others, nice guys all of them, but the names started to blend after a bit. The one name he didn’t get was the seventh (and last) chair double bass. Tyson spent most of the rehearsal on the other side of the percussion section from the bassists, but it was hard to miss him. He was young, but he had a pretty full beard, and the brightest, most beautiful smile Tyson had  _ ever _ seen. And his hair was a unique shade of brown. Maybe red? He’d have to ask Kerf sometime. Colourblindness was a bitch. 

 

—

 

Three weeks later, Tyson had done a lot of things. He’d gotten (mostly) unpacked, he’d figured out the (surprisingly nice, albeit small-ish) kitchen in the new place, he’d established a rapport with his drumline students,  _ and _ he’d learned all his new music and gotten it solidly down for DSO rehearsals. 

There were two things, however, that Tyson  _ hadn’t _ done. Firstly, he hadn’t yet gotten the name of that cute double-bass player. He’d been to four rehearsals and not once had he overheard the guy’s name, nor been able to catch him during breaks. He spent a lot of time with that trombonist and his boyfriend, the concertmaster. Every break he was over talking to them and so Tyson would just go hang out with Kerf. Or other Tyson. 

The other thing that Tyson hadn’t done was meet his other roommate.

Kerf said it was normal, but it felt a little weird, living in the same house as the guy for three weeks and never even seeing him. He knew his name was JT (he had no idea what JT stood for) and that he ate the leftovers that Tyson left out for him and Kerf. Tyson liked to cook (even if he was bad at doing the dishes), so he always made extra as a thanks for putting up with how messy he was. JT even left a nice post-it on the fridge thanking him when he made beef stroganoff that one time. 

But Tyson was usually up late and slept in before going to the high school for marching band rehearsal and then symphony rehearsals. Apparently JT woke up early to do orchestra director things, and his school was further from their apartment, and at nights he hung out with the band teacher at his school. 

“Barbs is sort of his guru, he’s been helping him out with getting into the swing of things. Being the new guy and a new teacher can be hard, I guess,” Kerf had told Tyson one day when he was ruminating about how they’d never met. 

Tyson guessed that he understood that. It was just weird. He felt like there was just this faceless ghost-stranger living with him.

 

—

 

After the mini-concert for the kids, Tyson felt like he really belonged in Denver. He still hadn’t met the Mysterious JT, but he was keeping busy and having fun. His marching band’s season was in full-swing, they were starting new music at the DSO, and he’d met some people in the orchestra who’d be willing to publish his drumline warm-up book that he’d written himself when he was still in university. Things were going really, really well.

So when he found out that he’d be playing tympani in one of the new pieces (Shostakovich’s 5 th symphony), right next to the double basses, Tyson decided he’d finally figure out how to impress (or at least talk to) that cute bassist. 

They weren’t rehearsing the Shosty until after the mid-rehearsal break, which Cute Bassist spent talking to that trombonist and Colin again, but afterward, Tys had his moment.

And he blew it.

After tuning, Tyson was fucking around with his mallets, spinning them in his hands, when he noticed Cute Bassist looking over at him, intrigued. Tyson winked, spun his mallet–

And dropped it right on the head of his drum. 

He threw his entire body onto the drum to try and muffle the noise but it was too late. Everyone was staring at him. Maestro Bednar was glaring. Tyson felt his face heat up so much you could probably fry an egg on his cheek.

When everyone had brought their attention back to Maestro Bednar, though, Tyson chanced a quick look at Cute Bassist. 

He was smiling.

 

—

 

Rehearsal ended with no more complete mortifications from Tyson, and he thought he’d just about lived it down when Kerf swung his arm around Tyson’s shoulders after they were done putting equipment away. “So, what the hell was that with the tympani earlier?” 

Tyson shrugged off Kerf’s arm, flushing. “Glad I have you around to keep me humble. Jackass,” he added fondly.

Kerf smiled unapologetically and clapped Tyson’s shoulder. “Whatever, man. We’ve all been there. JT’s actually catching a ride home with us today, though. Is that cool?”

Tyson nodded, glad he would finally get to meet the mysterious JT. He didn’t even realize their third roomie was also in the symphony, honestly.

They headed outside and Tyson’s face burned bright with embarrassment again.

Cute Bassist was leaning against Kerf’s car, looking at his phone.

Cute Bassist was JT.

 

—

 

Kerf would  _ not _ stop laughing about it the  _ entire _ ride home.

“Oh my GOD,” Kerf said between guffaws at a red light. “I knew you two hadn’t actually like properly talked, but I didn’t realize you didn’t even know who the other  _ was _ .”

Tyson was so glad he gave JT the front seat because he was  _ not _ okay. He embarrassed himself in front of the whole damn orchestra today to try and flirt with the guy he was supposed to be  _ living with _ . 

This was a  _ disaster _ .

“Shut up, it’s cool, we met now and if you keep chirping me, dude, I’m  _ only _ gonna cook for JT and not you,” Tyson finally said. 

JT turned around and grinned at him from the front seat and Tyson was pretty sure he was going to combust. 

He got out his phone and pulled up his text thread with Other Tyson.

> **Tyson:** __ what did u do when u were just pining after ur bf  
>    
>  **Other Tyson:** __???  
>    
>  **Tyson:** __ like how did u cope  
>    
>  **Other Tyson:** __ I didn’t? I’m a disaster, Baby Tys. You know this.  
>    
>  **Tyson:** __ so this is a Tyson Thing then i guess ha  
>    
>  **Other Tyson** :  __ OOOOOH baby’s first crush!!! Tell me all about them, wait is it the one you tried to flirt with and interrupted rehearsal for today? Nice with the not catching your mallets, by the way.  
>    
>  **Tyson:** __ this is biphobic im blocking u  
>    
>  **Tyson:** _ also yes  
>    
>  _ **Tyson:** __ and also apparently hes my other roommate so
> 
> **Other Tyson:** _ OH SHIT You need ice cream. Want me to stop by? _
> 
> **Tyson:** _ no gonna play video games or hang w kerf or maybe cook something idk _
> 
> **Other Tyson:** _ Ok good. I mean I will if you need me to, but Gabe and I have plans. Sexy plans. _
> 
> **Tyson:** _ tmi dad _
> 
> **Tyson:** _ fuck shit fuck _
> 
> **Other Tyson:** _ DID YOU JUST CALL ME DAD _
> 
> **Tyson:** _ im blocking u now _
> 
> **Other Tyson:** _ I’M SO PROUD! MY SON!!! _
> 
> **Tyson:** _ i hate u _
> 
> **Other Tyson:** _ Love you, too, Junior. Goodnight! Tell the rookie roomies I send my love. _

 

When Tyson finally looked up from his phone, Kerf was pulling into their building’s parking lot and Tyson grabbed his mallet bag, shoving his phone in his pocket. 

“Barrie says hi,” he relayed the message to Kerf and JT as they got out of the car. 

They finally got in the apartment and Tyson headed right for the kitchen, dropping his bag on a chair so he could cook something. It was calming to just make something from scratch and he had to stuff to do shrimp fajitas so he got started chopping peppers. 

To his surprise, JT hung back, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and smiling at Tyson.

It was beautiful. He was beautiful. Tyson was so fucked. 

“Nice to finally see the master chef in action,” JT said, his smile as warm as his voice and Tyson had to put the knife down lest he do something stupid like chop off a finger. 

“Yeah?” he finally said. “I’m just glad I have a name to put with the face. Or a face with the name… however that goes.” 

JT laughed and it sounded like bells. “Yeah. We always seem to miss each other, don’t we?” 

Tyson smiled and went back to his chopping, though he kept his body a little tilted toward JT, not exactly wanting him to leave yet. “Yeah. You’re always out with your coworkers or up early in the morning. You teach Orchestra, right?”

He heard JT hum an affirmative before he replied. “Yeah. Up at Foote Prep. It’s a bit of a hike so sometimes I just hang out with Barbs, he’s the band director there, and he’s been helping me get into the swing of things.”

“Foote Prep,” Tyson repeated, unable to stop the way his nose scrunched. His marching band kids often talked about Foote Prep. Bunch of rich kids who looked down on the public school kids, even though his kids at Sakic High School always beat Foote Prep at nearly every sport. 

“Oh no. Not you, too,” JT laughed. “Kerf recruit you for the Sakic squad?”

Tyson chuckled and nodded. “Yeah, bro. I’m tech-ing their drumline. They’re good kids. Work their asses off.” 

“I believe it,” JT said fondly. “I went to the Denver exhibition show to see Barbs’ band march and I caught you guys just after. The percussion sounded great. You two must be proud.” 

Tyson turned and smiled, wide and genuine, at JT. That was thoughtful as shit. Tyson would have to start doing more dishes if he wanted to not piss JT off too much. “Yeah. We really are,” he said. “I guess I can cross over to the dark side when you guys do… like… orchestra stuff.”

“Orchestra stuff,” JT teased. “That what you call our rehearsals, too?”

“Nah,” Tyson said, dumping the peppers into the frying pan and getting out an onion. “We’re adults, JT. It’s  _ Orchestra shit _ .” 

JT chuckled and his eyes went all soft before he stepped closer to see what Tyson was making. 

They stayed up so late, eating all the fajitas (with only enough saved to pack up for JT’s lunch the next day) and talking about everything. They clicked well in a way Tyson hadn’t felt since the day he became friends with Kerf. But more than that, he made Tyson feel all warm all over and it was equal parts amazing, because he immediately felt like he’d had a new friend in this new place, and frustrating, because in any other situation, he’d pursue something more than friendship with JT. Unfortunately, he was lucky enough to rent this place from Kerf. He wasn’t about to make it awkward by crushing on his roommate. At least they could be friends. Tyson and JT exchanged numbers, and Tyson woke up at 11 the next morning with a pair of texts sent at 7:02am.

> **Jompher Tompher:** _ Running late this morning due to SOMEONE keeping me up late! _
> 
> **Jompher Tompher:** _ Worth it, though :) _
> 
> **Jompher Tompher:** _ Thanks again for the lunch! Barbs is always so jealous when I bring in the good food from home :) _

Tyson grinned and tapped out a response, still curled into his pillow. 

> **Tyson:** _ i think it was YOU who kept ME up, thank u very much _
> 
> **Tyson:** _ glad u like the food tho  _
> 
> **Tyson:** _ im going to the store later lmk if you have any requests _

It must have been JT’s lunch break, because Tyson was surprised to get a text back within a minute. 

> **Jompher Tompher:** _ Whatever you make is fine! It’s always good. Let me know if you ever want me to chip in for food, since you feed me all the time. _
> 
> **Tyson:** __ whats ur fav food?  
>  __  
>  **Jompher Tompher:** _ Cinnamon Rolls (with no nuts because I don’t want to kill Kerf :P)  
>  _   
>  **Jompher Tompher:** __ What about you? Not that I’m offering to cook because I’m the actual worst.
> 
> **Tyson:** _ im sure ur not _
> 
> **Tyson:** _ but dark chocolate covered almonds (which i eat never bc i also dont wanna kill kerf :P) _
> 
> **Jompher Tompher** :  _ Hahaha apart from that? _
> 
> **Tyson:** _ coffee :P esp when my weird roomies keep me up :P _
> 
> **Jompher Tompher:** _ I’ll try not to keep you up too late tonight, then. No guarantees, though. _
> 
> **Tyson** _**:** Don’t threaten me with a good time ;) _

Tyson was worried he went too far for a moment, but in a breath, JT’s text came back.

> **Jompher Tompher:** _ You promised me a Mario Kart tournament, so if we’re up late again, it’s your fault :) _
> 
> **Tyson:** _ this time _
> 
> **Jompher Tompher:** _ This time :) :) _

 

—

 

The Mario Kart tournament went well. And so did making dinner together the next night. And Tyson teaching JT how to meal prep for the week that weekend. 

They hung out all the time. Sometimes it was with Kerf, sometimes without. And the more time they spent together, the more Tyson  _ wanted _ . 

Kerf was starting to notice, too, sending Tyson concerned looks. Eventually he asked about it as they drove home together from a marching band rehearsal.

“So… you and JT…” he said slowly.

Tyson immediately hid his face in his hands. “I know. I’m sorry.”

It was quiet for a few beats, before Kerf spoke again, sounding confused. “Sorry? What are you apologizing for exactly?”

“I uh…” Tyson said, shrugging a little and sinking in the seat as much as his seatbelt would allow. “I told myself I wasn’t gonna make it weird and like… fuck up the roommate situation. I know you two didn’t have to let me move in and like… I don’t want to screw any of this up. I like Denver and living here and working here and I just-“

“Tys. Buddy,” Kerf interrupted. “I’m not mad or concerned about that or whatever. You two are grown-ass adults, you can sort your own shit out. You just have to talk to each other about it, yeah? Or you should.”

“Do you think he’s…” Tyson trailed off.

“He’s what, bud? I’m not a mind reader,” Kerf teased, poking Tyson’s leg as he got to the red light at Tyson’s favorite coffee place. 

“Do you think he’s into me?” Tyson’s face heated at how small his voice sounded.

“Do  _ you _ think he’s into you?”

Tyson frowned. He hated when Kerf did that. Turned the question around to make him all introspective and stuff. Eventually he shrugged and answered petulantly. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think, maybe? But other times I have no idea. I don’t even know if he’s like… not straight or whatever.”

“Would it be so awkward to just ask him?”

“ _ Yes _ .” 

Kerf hummed, tapping out a beat on the steering wheel along with the radio. “Just think about it, man.” 

Thinking. Introspection. Tyson hated that.

 

—

 

But Tyson did think about it. It was all he could think about sometimes. But he put it to the back of his mind because like… he was a pretty social guy, and he could make friends pretty easily, but he didn’t want to make just  _ any _ friends and JT was a really good friend and he didn’t want to mess that up.

They were at a dress rehearsal for their second performance of the season, a really exciting performance that featured Holst’s The Planets, when it all came to a head. Everyone was setting up the stage in a flurry of excitement that was palpable in the way only performance day could bring. JT was already in his tux, holding onto Zadorov’s stands while he set up his seat. Piccolo, flute, and alto flute all lined up next to Z’s chair and JT’s bow tie was horrendously crooked. 

Before he could stop himself, Tyson crossed over from where he’d been helping set up the crash cymbals and waited until JT’s arms were clear. “One sec, bud. You’re having a tie emergency,” Tyson said softly. He meticulously fixed JT’s tie, taking his time. He was so close he could smell JT’s cologne. He never put too much on, just a bit, just enough to barely catch it. It was fresh, almost citrusy, with a hint of something a little darker and more peppery and it made Tyson lean in just a little closer and—

“Excuse me,” Mikko muttered from behind them, pointing to the chair they were blocking. His, Tyson assumed, given the folder of bassoon music on the seat, but Tyson couldn’t move.

However, JT, it seemed, couldn’t move fast enough.

“I- Tyson…” JT said looking absolutely crushed and he pushed Tyson’s hands back and almost tripped over his feet getting away from him. 

Tyson had no idea what he’d done wrong, but he felt like something sharp had shifted up between his ribs and he hated it.

He blinked rapidly when Mikko cleared his throat again, holding up his bassoon. “I’m really sorry, and I hope you’re okay, but this is heavy, please.”

“Yeah-” Tyson said, voice cracking a bit. He coughed lightly, shook his head, then moved. “Yeah. Sorry, man. I’ll just…”

He hurried to the other side of the stage, trying to find Kerf, but halfway there he realized he probably shouldn’t put Kerf in the middle of all of this. 

Honestly, part of him was afraid that if somehow, Kerf had to choose sides, it wouldn’t be Tyson’s and Tyson didn’t want to lose his two best friends for this. He fucked up, somehow, even if he didn’t know how yet. But he’d made JT uncomfortable and he needed to put space there. For both of their sakes.

And he needed to take a deep breath and relax, so he could get through this performance. He was a professional. He could do this.

 

—

 

After the concert, Tyson made a determined effort to go back to the same schedule he had in the first weeks he was in Denver. He stayed up late in his room, slept in, kept out of mostly common areas of the apartment in the few hours he was around, and generally missed seeing JT at any opportunity, save for Orchestra rehearsals. But this upcoming concert didn’t feature Tyson on any of the instruments near the double basses, so it was fine. He just had to look at Maestro Bednar, which is what he should be doing, anyway, not looking at anyone else.

It was hard.

He still made extra food, left in little containers, unlabeled in the fridge. He wasn’t sure if JT was eating them, or Kerf, but they got eaten, and the containers were left on the drying rack, freshly washed beside the sink, every night when Tyson stumbled in the door. 

He didn’t see JT.

It didn’t get easier.

 

—

 

A few weeks later, Tyson was more than a little stressed. The marching band season had ended and winter indoor percussion had started early and there was a bit more of a learning curve with his kids there. And some of them were none too happy with the amount of hard work he and Kerf expected during rehearsals. To top it all off, Tyson just found out his center quad player was moving across the damn state. He and Kerf went right from indoor percussion to their DSO rehearsal, the last before their holiday concert. And it seemed like everything hit him at once. The cheerful music, the stress at his other job, the fact that his little sister texted him during their break and mentioned casually that they hadn’t talked in  _ weeks _ . 

Tyson barely held in a scream when he saw that JT was coming home with them after rehearsal instead of going to hang with Barbs again. It was too much. He was overwhelmed.

They got home, and Tyson swung his mallet bag over his shoulder and got out of the car, slamming the door behind him. Instead of a satisfying slam, he heard a crunch that made him feel sick to his stomach. His bag had gotten stuck in the door. He didn’t even need to open it to know that at least one of the sticks was broken beyond repair.

“ _ Fu-ck, _ ” he shouted, voice breaking pitifully in the middle of the word, not caring that Kerf and JT and God knows who else were staring at him. He pushed past them both and headed into the apartment, unlocking it with shaking hands, throwing his useless fucking bag onto the couch and moving as fast as he could to his room.

Tyson slammed the door (satisfyingly loud, with no broken sticks) behind him and collapsed onto the bed. His shoes were still on, he was still in jeans and a flannel, and it was not comfortable, but he didn’t care. Pulling all of his blankets on top of him, he curled up, hugged a pillow to his chest, and tried to regulate his breathing. 

There was a light knock on his door, then another, then the sound of someone slowly letting themselves in. Tyson couldn’t bring himself to answer, or even emerge from his cocoon to see who it was. It was Kerf, he guessed, being a good friend. Kerf’s hand found his back through the pile of blankets and started running up and down slowly, comfortingly, and Tyson just let go. The alternating quiet sniffles and great, hiccuping sobs shook his blanket pile and he was glad he’d left a little hole near his nose because it was getting a little hot and hard to breathe.

When the worst of the crying was over, Tyson a mess of snot and tears, Kerf slid a bag into the hole in the blankets. Tyson blindly reached for it, opening the bag and smelling chocolate.

“Thanks,” he said, voice wet and nose stuffy before he popped one of the dark chocolate almonds into his mouth.

He blinked, going stock-still mid-chew. 

Dark. Chocolate. Almonds.

Kerf was allergic to tree nuts.

This wasn’t Kerf.

Tyson threw down the blankets, wincing at the sudden light and cold air and turned enough to look at JT.

“We can’t have these in the kitchen,” he said firmly, frowning. “Kerf’s allergic.”

Tyson’s eyes were still adjusting, but he was pretty sure JT smiled and by the time they’d adjusted fully, he saw JT holding an airtight container with a big “KEEP OUT KERF” sticker on the front. 

“I keep it in my bedroom,” JT explained and Tyson frowned.

“Why?”

“They’re your favorite,” JT shrugged simply and it was too much for Tyson. He put the blankets back over his head and took a few steadying breaths and another almond. 

JT’s hand was rubbing up and down his back again.

“Do you want to talk about it?” JT finally asked quietly. 

Tyson shook his head, still chewing. “Lotta stuff,” he mumbled. “Everything all building up and just…”

“Yeah…” JT sighed. “I get that. Anything I can do to help?”

Tyson shrugged and shook his head before admitting pitifully, “I missed you.” 

It came out as more of a whine, with a little bit of accusation, and no small amount of hurt, and Tyson felt the hand on his back still.

“Tyson,” JT sounded  _ sad _ and Tyson didn’t like it. “You were avoiding  _ me _ .”

Tyson’s face scrunched up against the pillow he was holding there. “Because I made you uncomfortable. I wanted to give you fucking space.”

It was quiet for a few moments, then, the bed creaking as JT got up, then again as he sat down on Tyson’s other side. Then-

“Tyson. Look at me?” 

It took a few moments for Tyson to work up the courage, but he slowly pulled the blanket down, snot still pooled around his nose, his eyes dry and itchy as he chewed, open-mouthed, on some chocolate-and-almond pulp. He was sure he looked like something out of a horror movie.

JT smiled and sunk his fingers into Tyson’s hair anyway. “There you are,” he said, softly.

Tyson was quiet, popping another almond into his mouth and sucking all the dark chocolate coating off before chewing it slowly. 

“I freaked out,” JT finally said, breaking the silence. “You were so close and I wanted so much and I freaked out. And I’m really sorry for that. And I appreciate that you wanted to give me space or you thought that I thought…. Or wasn’t comfortable or… or whatever. I should have talked to you. If not right then, then afterwards. That’s on me, Tyson.” 

It was stupid that all Tyson could think about was how soft JT’s beard looked at that angle, and how nice his hand felt in Tyson’s curls. Kerf had been on him lately about getting a haircut and he was suddenly glad that he didn’t.

“I wanted so much, too,” he finally admitted after he’d swallowed the latest almond. “I thought you didn’t.”

JT ducked his head down and pressed his forehead to Tyson’s and Tyson dropped the bag of almonds between them so he could get his arms out of the blanket and wrap them around JT’s middle to bring him closer. 

“Are we okay?” JT asked, nudging his nose against Tyson’s. He was so close that his beard was tickling Tyson’s face. It wasn’t as soft as it looked, but it felt nice.

“Will you kiss me?”

JT huffed out a laugh, his breath coming out in a puff against Tyson’s lips. “Yeah, bud. I’ll kiss you.”

Tyson nodded, still keeping his forehead pressed against JT’s. “And the dating thing, too? We’re uh… doing that?” 

Tyson felt JT’s grin. “Yeah. Yeah Josty. We’re doing the dating thing, too. If you want.”

“Then we’re okay.”

Tyson could absolutely confirm two things. One: the beard felt really nice. Two: Jompher Tompher Compher was an excellent kisser.

 

—

 

Later that night, they brought the almonds in their airtight container back to JT’s room and that’s where they stayed.

And so did Tyson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR’S NOTES:  
> For reference again, here’s all the Avs in the Orchestra <3  
> First Violin (Concertmaster/Principal/First Chair): Colin Wilson  
> Second Violin (Fifth Chair): Matt Nieto  
> Viola (Principal/First Chair): Erik Johnson  
> Viola (Second Chair): Sam Girard  
> Viola (Sixth Chair): Matt Calvert  
> Cello (First Chair): Philipp Grubauer  
> Bass (Last Chair): JT Compher  
> Piccolo (Flute 3/Auxiliary Flutes): Nikita Zadorov  
> Oboe (Principal/First Chair): Gabe Landeskog  
> Bassoon (Principal/First Chair): Mikko Rantanen  
> Clarinet (Principal/First Chair): Nate MacKinnon  
> Clarinet (Second Chair): Tyson Barrie  
> Carinet (Third Chair/Auxiliary Clarinets): Derick Brassard  
> French Horn (Third Chair): Carl Soderberg  
> Trumpet (Second Chair): Sven Andrighetto  
> Trombone (Second Chair): Mark Barberio  
> Tuba: Gabriel Borque  
> Percussion: Tyson Jost, Alexander Kerfoot  
> Harp: Ryan Graves


	3. Erik Johnson & Sam Girard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: If you are a person mentioned in this fic please turn away now. This is a work of fiction.
> 
> AUTHOR’S WARNINGS: Significant age difference (everyone is very much legal), a few vague mentions of smut, alcohol use (some illegally as per laws in the US)

Every year, EJ knew that celebrating with the guys at a bar the night before the first rehearsal of a new DSO season was a bad idea, and yet, every year that’s exactly what he did.

“Anyone gonna catch us up on the gossip?” Tyson asked as he and Nate arrived, pushing into the booth so that EJ had to slide closer to Gabe.

EJ smirked a little as Gabe suddenly craned his neck to get a better view of Barrie.

“So, _so_ much gossip,” Colin, their concertmaster, said as if he was one to talk. The man was a master at holding a violin and playing with such beautiful subtlety. If only he was that subtle about holding Barberio’s hand under the table. “Did I tell you about Z? I totally thought he was cheating on his wife half the summer.”

Even Nate, usually quiet during the gossip sessions, leaned in for that one.

“Okay so, you know that harpist we sometimes get in for pieces… Ryan? Graves, I think his last name is. Super tall, loves astrology,” Colin continued to nods around the table. “So we live in the same apartment complex and I saw them coming in and out sometimes and like… it definitely seemed more than friendly, but like… it’s Z, right? Like anyone who’s within 15 feet of him gets shown a hundred pictures of his wife and kid as soon as he can get his phone out, so it was like… you know… confusing...”

EJ leaned back as Colin continued the story. The rest of the guys were enraptured, but EJ was just… comfortable. It was nice. He spent most of the summer doing the hardest of his work on his own. He’d only only hired someone to help on his small farm and another one to help with his stand at the produce market once the DSO season started up again and he’d be more busy. The weariness had sunk into his bones but he loved it, that feeling of accomplishment and getting so much done, but he was occasionally reminded that he needed human contact. Being squished into a corner booth at a busy bar with a bunch of his best friends was one of those times.

It was _nice_.

“So I was shocked as hell, right? Like I couldn’t think of anything to say, because here I was thinking Big Z was cheating on her or something and you know what she does?” Colin continued as EJ tuned back in to his story. “She slaps both of their asses and tells me she’s collecting tall men.”

The booth exploded in varying degrees of laughter. Tyson was crowing into EJ’s ear about how much Z’s wife was an _icon_ , while Barberio, between chuckles, was saying how he was really happy for the three of them if they were happy. And EJ was just _content_.

Eventually he got up to get another round for the table and, as he waited for the bartender to fill the tray, he felt someone come up behind him, their hand low on his back. Only one person he knew was comfortable enough to do that without getting decked.

“Hey, Soda,” EJ greeted, as he leaned back into Carl a little bit in greeting.

Carl was a french horn player and, like EJ, was among the older guys in their friend group. They’d had an off and on friends with benefits thing going for awhile, but mostly they worked best as friends. He was one of EJ’s favorite people.

“You’re one of my favorite people, too,” Soda chuckled and it was then that EJ realized he’d said that last bit out loud.

That was a sign, he decided, that he’d had just enough to drink. He was coasting happy. Maybe he could find someone to hook up with tonight. It had been awhile and he was actually in a good, sociable mood.

“We gotta find someone to send you home with,” Soda continued because he knew just what EJ was thinking, always.

“Can’t _you_ just come over?” EJ mumbled as the bartender put the last of the drinks (Tyson’s pina colada) on the tray.

“I’ve uh… sort of been seeing someone?” Soda mumbled, cheeks turning a little pink in the dim bar light.

EJ put the tray back down on the bar so he could clap Soda on the back and pull him into a hug. “That’s great for you, man. Anyone I know?”

“Matt? Uh… Nieto? The second violinist from California?” Soda was scratching the back of his neck.

EJ scrunched his nose dramatically. “Violinists. _Boo_. Taking it back. Not happy for you anymore,” he said, still grinning even as he gave Soda shit.

“There’s a guy that’s been checking you out, though. Table by the far end of the bar. Drinking a bottle of water. He’s cute. Don’t look, just show off your ass on your way back to the table, it’s your best feature.”

“Excuse me,” EJ said, though he put a bit of a swagger into his step as he brought the tray back. “My everything is my best feature.”

When they got back to the table, Soda whispered to him. “He stared the whole time.”

EJ glanced over, smirking, and, wow okay. He looked kind of familiar but he was cute. _Really_ cute. He could go for that.

 

—

 

EJ did go for that.

And when he woke up the next morning, _that_ was curled up against him in bed, looking soft and rumpled and thoroughly debauched. EJ couldn’t help the bit of pride that jolted through him at the sight of the dark hickey on the guy’s hip.

The sun was starting to peek over the mountains and as much as EJ would have loved to stay in bed and possibly wake this guy up with for round… he racked his brain trying to piece together the night before… three? Round four? But he had to feed the chickens and collect eggs, not to mention a handful of other chores. His help wasn’t due to start until the next day.

He slid out of bed as quietly as he could and padded downstairs to the kitchen. He made a whole pot of coffee, some fair trade local roast that he got from one of the other stands at the farmer’s market. It was delicious. As it brewed, he got out his mug and wrote out a note for curly-haired, cute, upstairs bar-guy.

 

> _‘Had to do some chores around the farm. Coffee in the pot, mugs in the counter to the left of the sink. If you’re still here when I’m back, I’ll make breakfast._
> 
> _-Erik’_

He put the note next to the small stack of jars he was filling with honey from his bees and labeling for the next market. The guy wasn’t there when EJ got back from doing his chores, but there was a used U Denver mug in the sink and a lopsided smiley face and a bee doodled onto the bottom of the note.

 

—

 

He spent the rest of the day making sure he was ready for rehearsal. EJ had even made little gift baskets for his section. It was a little bag with a tiny jar of honey, an apple from the one lone (but delicious) tree on his property, a cookie made with as many fresh ingredients as he could find (including the eggs he’d gathered that morning), and a card with his number in case they needed anything.

Though he knew most of the guys returning, there were a few new faces. He’d gotten a call a week ago from Maestro Bednar. His stand partner, Elise, had retired after nearly 40 years with the orchestra and upon auditions they’d found some new wunderkind, a 20 year-old from U Denver and they were just slotting him into the second chair spot instead of shifting everyone up one. EJ was a little hesitant, but he was hoping this kid wouldn’t have a big head about it. The section was a really relaxed, chill group and he liked their dynamic.

He didn’t want some prodigy with a big head messing with that.

EJ arrived early to put the bags on the chairs before rehearsal, then got his viola out and just hung around offstage with Soda, insisting on meeting his guy properly. Nieto was nice enough for a violinist. And he seemed to make Soda happy, and that was all that mattered, really. Their conversation was cut short when Matt Calvert, one of his violists, hit him with a gentle side-hug.

“Cookies! Thank you!” Matt said around the cookie that was obviously in his mouth.

EJ laughed and shifted his viola to the other side of his body away from any potentially stray crumbs. “Glad you enjoyed them, Matt,” he said genuinely, nudging Matt with his shoulder. “You meet the new guy, yet?”

“Oh, Elise 2.0?” Matt asked. “Yeah, he seems cool.”

That helped EJ to relax a little bit. Matt was a pretty good judge of character. They hung out long enough for EJ to greet Gabe and check on his hangover before they had to be on stage. As EJ worked his way over to the violas, he froze a bit.

The guy from last night was sitting in Elise’s old seat.

EJ took a deep breath, determined to be cool and adult and not at all awkward about this. He headed over and slid into his seat, straightening his music on the stand before turning to his new stand partner.

“I’m afraid I didn’t introduce myself properly… uh… before,” he said, studiously avoiding the words ‘last night’. He held out his hand to shake the guy’s. Professionally. As if he didn’t have his entire tongue in the guy’s ass just 18 hours ago. And _wow_ that was a great memory but one he didn’t need to dwell on at that exact moment. “I’m Erik. Erik Johnson.”

The guy’s dark eyes twinkled. “I know,” he said calmly and EJ’s stomach dropped. Did he really not remember that from the night before? “It’s Sammy. Sam Girard.”

The name was familiar to EJ and he had to blink a few seconds before it clicked.

Oh _fuck_.

Back when EJ was a student at U Denver a decade ago, he’d taught private lessons to local kids for some extra cash. One of his most promising students was a talented kid who’d recently moved from Quebec. Sammy. Sammy Girard.

“Oh _fuck_ ,” EJ said out loud, this time. He was desperately trying to do the math in his head. “You’re… what… twenty, now?”

He chanced a look at Sammy and the kid looked a little crushed. Shit. He’d not only defiled him, but made him sad as well. Fuck. He was going to hell. “Yeah, Twenty.” Sammy said, voice clipped. “I thought you uh… knew.”

“I did _not_ ,” EJ said firmly. “I’m so sor-“

The sad look was immediately replaced with one of firm anger. EJ hated himself a little bit for finding it hot. “If you finish that apology, I will actually stab you with my bow,” Sam hissed, quiet enough so that nobody could overhear it.

EJ nodded.

“I don’t regret it,” Sammy said, voice softer. “You shouldn’t either.”

EJ was spared having to think of a response when Colin came out and had Gabe start the tuning.

 

—

 

Here’s the thing. EJ knew it was fine. Sammy was 20. He was an adult who could make his own choices.

But also EJ was _thirty_.

EJ remembered Sammy as a _kid_ and while the Sammy he knew then and this new Sammy, this _Sam_ were very different, it messed EJ up a little bit.

And even worse, every single time he thought he’d put it out of his mind, he’d go to rehearsal and Sammy would be there, still really obviously interested in EJ, and EJ–

Well, fuck him, EJ _wanted_ more than he should want.

When the orchestra had their little day concert they’d done for the local kids, EJ had helped Big Z bandage up Gabe’s hand. The idiot had cut it while making reeds and a shirtless Tyson Barrie had distracted him. When EJ had gone to the bathroom to wash the blood off his hands. Sam had followed him there, cornering him against the sink and asking if he was the only one feeling this way. He was not, but EJ didn’t know how to say that without spiraling into another freakout, so he kissed Sammy instead.

This led to EJ on his knees in a bathroom stall, and Sam biting off French swears into his fist as EJ swallowed him down.

And EJ spiraled into another freakout anyway. That’s how he found himself at Soda’s house, downing half a bottle of wine and telling Carl the whole story.

Soda had just chuckled, clapped EJ’s shoulder, and said that Sam was an adult who made his own choices (EJ knew that) who was clearly good in bed (EJ also knew that) and seemed like he really wanted to make EJ happy (EJ didn’t want to dwell on that).

 

—

 

It kept happening.

Even when EJ tried to keep a distance between them, it _still_ kept happening.

At their October performance, they’d played Shostakovich’s 5th Symphony and Sam fucked EJ against a wall in a storage closet after dress rehearsal.

At their November performance, they’d played Holst’s The Planets and after the concert, EJ sat on a loveseat in an unused changing room while Sam rode him.

At their Christmas concert, EJ still had the last bit of the audience sing-along stuck in his head when Sam pulled him into his truck, barely even getting the door closed before his hand was down EJ’s pants, jacking him off and forcing EJ into a really awkward moment with his dry cleaner after he’d come all over everything, even his fucking bow tie.

While preparing for their January concert (featuring one of EJ’s favorites, Beethoven’s 3rd) they didn’t even make it to three rehearsals in. EJ had pinned Sam against the wall behind a curtain on stage right while everyone packed up.

“You remember where I live?” he asked as his teeth slid over the junction between Sam’s neck and shoulder. He felt Sam nod. “Good. Follow me home.”

EJ bit down just enough to hear Sam let out a wrecked little whimper before he reluctantly let go and headed out. He palmed himself for a moment after he got into his own truck, thinking of how he wanted to eat Sam out again, like he had their first night together.

He got home in record time, and, while he waited for Sam, he poured them each a glass of wine. By the time Sam had arrived, EJ had calmed down enough to actually offer him the drink.

“This is really good,” Sam said after a few sips, settling himself straddling EJ’s lap on the couch, and suddenly EJ wasn’t sure he would make it the whole glass.

EJ cleared his throat, settling his free hand on Sam’s thigh, thumb brushing back and forth, inching higher. “Yeah? The winery isn’t far from here, they have a stand at the produce market and sell to a couple local restaurants. We– you should check it out sometime.”

Sam’s cheeks went pink. “Uh… I- Uh…”

EJ tilted his head. “You okay?”

“I mean… that sounds great… if that was you asking me out on a date. That would be… I’d like that a lot but uh…”

EJ’s brain was already short-circuiting a bit because oh shit he hadn’t meant to ask Sam on a date, that was not something he was sure he was ready for (even if his chest tightened a little in pleasure at the idea). “But?” EJ said quietly, hoping Sam would give him an out here.

“I mean if I were back in Quebec, yeah that would uh work…” he trailed off and- oh right.

Sam was 20. Not even allowed to legally drink.

EJ’s hand stopped and he gently pushed Sam off his lap, his stomach rolling a little at the reminder of just how many years there were between them. “Fuck- Sam… Sammy, I–” his breath was coming in short pants and he stood up, taking a few steps back.

Sam put his wine down, looking concerned. “EJ… are you okay?”

“I can’t _do_ this,” EJ said quietly.

Sammy was suddenly in front of him, his hand on EJ’s cheek. “C’mon, EJ,” he pleaded quietly and EJ fought every urge to lean into Sam’s hand. “I thought we’d gotten past this. Are you saying-”

“I’m saying _no_ , Sammy,” EJ bit out, wincing as Sam’s hand dropped _immediately_.

“Alright,” Sammy said, voice sounding choked and wet and EJ, coward that he was, couldn’t open his eyes to look. “If that’s what you want.”

If EJ let himself cry for a few minutes after he heard Sam’s truck pull out of his driveway, that was nobody’s business but his own.

 

—

 

At the January concert featuring Beethoven’s 3rd symphony, Sam wouldn’t even look at EJ. EJ felt empty.

At the February performance, featuring the winner of the youth concerto competition playing Grieg’s Piano Concerto in A-minor, Sam spent his time talking to (and smiling with) Derick, the third-chair clarinet. They looked really chummy. EJ hated it.

At the March performance, featuring Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring, EJ tried to approach Derick to ask how Sam was doing. Derick scowled and walked away.

After the first rehearsal for the last concert of the season, at the beginning of April, it had gotten to be too much for EJ. He was tired of moping, and his friends were tired of seeing him mope.

“It’s completely avoidable,” Soda had told him. “Get over your shit. He’s clearly worth it to you. You being sad right now is nobody else’s fault.”

Soda had never been one to hold back the truth from EJ. And EJ appreciated that from him, and it did give him the kick in the ass he needed. He thought of Sam, spending all of his breaks with Derick, and hoped he hadn’t waited too long.

Halfway through the first part of rehearsal, while Maestro Bednar worked with the reeds, EJ leaned to his right and whispered. “Can I talk to you during break?” He saw Sam hesitate, so he added, just a little louder, “Please, Sam. Please.”

He could see Sam nod out of the corner of his eye, so he relaxed a little bit, only straightening up again when Bednar turned back, ready for the whole orchestra to play again.

When they went on break, EJ led Sam to one of the quietest places he could think of: a small hallway off the front lobby that was used as a coat check on performance nights.

“Are you dating Brassard?” Erik asked, wincing as he realized how clingy and jealous that sounded.

Sam had clearly picked up on that too and his expression clouded, arms crossed over his chest.

“I’m sorry,” EJ said quickly. “I just… I need to know. Before I say what I uh… what I want to say. Either way, just… I’ll leave you be after this if you want I just need to know before I stick my foot in my mouth any further.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, but his shoulders relaxed just slightly and he uncrossed his arms. “Not that it’s _any_ of your business,” he said, and if only he knew how much that stung EJ. “But no. I’m not.”

EJ sucked in a deep breath, feeling stupidly like there was a little bit of hope. If Sam could manage to forgive him.,,

“Okay,” he said, steadying himself against the wall and looking at the ground to collect his thoughts. Shit. He should have written this all down before. “I just wanted to apologize. For how we- how I-“

There was a long pause. “Go on,” Sam prompted, his tone unreadable.

“When we ended things… How _I_ acted. It was… I’m sorry, Sam. I had my own shit to work through. I was freaking out. About the age thing.”

“No kidding.” The sarcasm was clear as a bell in Sam’s voice.

“But I just… I’ve kind of um… I’ve been a mess? Without you and I just… I needed to work through my stupid hangups and bullshit but if there’s still a chance I want to do this. Like, not just fucking around after performances. I want to like… take you to places even though you can’t legally drink here and like… watch movies at my place and teach you how to feed the chickens and introduce you to my horses and Alvin, the alpaca, who can be kind of grumpy at first but he’s really sweet I promise. And-”

He stopped talking when Sam’s hand reached up to touch his cheek and this time, EJ didn’t hold himself back. He leaned into the touch, unable to put into words how much he’d ached for this since January.

“EJ,” Sam said softly, bringing EJ’s forehead down to rest against his. “Is this you saying _yes_?”

“I- I can’t guarantee I won’t get hung up on the age thing sometimes,” EJ admitted quietly. “But it hurts too fucking much without you not to try and make this work.”

“So that’s-” Sam prompted and EJ finished immediately.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Yeah it’s a yes.”

They were just _barely_ on time coming back from break, but Sam was smiling and looking EJ in the eye as they sat down for tuning and something in EJ’s chest settled into place and it was _right_ again.  
  
It took long enough, but it was _right_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR’S NOTES:  
> For reference again, here’s all the Avs in the Orchestra <3  
> First Violin (Concertmaster/Principal/First Chair): Colin Wilson  
> Second Violin (Fifth Chair): Matt Nieto  
> Viola (Principal/First Chair): Erik Johnson  
> Viola (Second Chair): Sam Girard  
> Viola (Sixth Chair): Matt Calvert  
> Cello (First Chair): Philipp Grubauer  
> Bass (Last Chair): JT Compher  
> Piccolo (Flute 3/Auxiliary Flutes): Nikita Zadorov  
> Oboe (Principal/First Chair): Gabe Landeskog  
> Bassoon (Principal/First Chair): Mikko Rantanen  
> Clarinet (Principal/First Chair): Nate MacKinnon  
> Clarinet (Second Chair): Tyson Barrie  
> Carinet (Third Chair/Auxiliary Clarinets): Derick Brassard  
> French Horn (Third Chair): Carl Soderberg  
> Trumpet (Second Chair): Sven Andrighetto  
> Trombone (Second Chair): Mark Barberio  
> Tuba: Gabriel Borque  
> Percussion: Tyson Jost, Alexander Kerfoot  
> Harp: Ryan Graves


End file.
